It was early on a sunday morn. The sunlight shown brightly and as it broke through my bedroom curtain, it made my face very warm. The morning’s air smelled fresh as it blew about my room. When I sat up and raised my arms high over my head, I could feel the cool sheets under me and could hear the birds chirping and singing outside my window.
I sat down on my bed again. Suddenly I remembered someone. As I stared off the ceiling, flashbacks of fifteen-year-ago memories came back to me: Sundays had been wonderful times for me and him. He and I spent much of our Sundays together, and during that year we became closer to each other than we were before.
He and I had known each other most of our lives, but we did not really know one another until that year. He gave me a birthday present, something that he never did before. He says he remembers me when I was a baby. I remember how we always played together since then and how I loved every minute of it.
I daydreamed about the walks we had taken and the thinking of the talks we had. I remembered the time we played ball in a rainstorm, and we laughed along with the rain coming down harder and harder each moment. It was our little world, how I enjoyed it so much!
He is handsome in my eyes. His face always had a hard look, as though he had a tough life. I liked his eyes the best. They were a deep, dark brown, and when I look into them, I could see his love for me. He had a tall slender body, but it was solid as concrete. His muscles showed through his light-colored shirt, making him look strong. I always remember how tall and proud he walked, he was my idol.
I felt numb when a year later he died in Bangil. My family told me that he was suffering from hipertension for years, but the time he died there was no real suffering because he died in his sleep.
My cell-phone rang, and I heard my cousin’s voice “Are you ready for tonight? We must go to Seribu Hari in Bangil. I’ll pick you up at 9 then”. Of course I remember it, I had the invitation this moment on my pillow. It was written the name of the man I daydreamed just now: Raden Ngabehi Sabadiman Djojoprakto.
But that did not mean much to me because I never did call him by his name. I just called him Mbahkung.
Mbahkung = grandpa in Javanese language